Bad Moon Rising
by Secretly-A-Fangirl
Summary: Sarah is kidnapped by an unknown man and held hostage in his country home with the fear that he planned to kill her daughter if she disobeyed his orders. Emmett is beyond worried when his wife doesn't come home and will do whatever it takes to get her and his daughter back. Will the couple be able to get back together or will fate keep them apart? Emmett/Sarah
1. Chapter 1

_I see the bad moon arising.  
I see trouble on the way.  
I see earthquakes and lightnin'.  
I see bad times today.  
Don't go around tonight,  
Well, it's bound to take your life,  
There's a bad moon on the rise.  
_**Bad Moon Rising-CCR**

* * *

**Sarah**

I glance over my shoulder nervously, quickening my pace towards the cemetery. A sigh of release escapes as I pass through the iron gates and step onto holy ground. For the past two weeks I've had the feeling of being watched that only stops when I visit my brother. Two white roses and a small toy rest on Edgar's grave—evidence that Emily and her son were here earlier. Smiling softly, I sit on the grass and lean back against the cold marble headstone. Just last week I had paid Emily a visit so that the children could play and the two of us could catch up a little. "We miss you, Edgar," I say quietly, pulling at the end of my sleeve and hiding a couple of scratches my toddler accidentally caused. "You're little boy is growing up quickly; he turns six in a week and he acts so much like you it hurts sometimes. Ever since my babies were born my depression has gone and I think yours would have too if you had only lived long enough." I glance up at the sky, instantly noting the dark clouds moving in and the droplets of rain beginning to fall. "I'll come back when I can, elder brother," I promise, standing up and tossing a single crimson rose next to Emily's white roses. It was getting harder to come here to come here because of Elizabeth and Andrew being sick and Mary had to leave to take care of her dying mother. "I love you."

"Well, isn't that touching?" I spin around at the unfamiliar and unwelcome voice, finding a tall, handsome man a few feet behind me—a mocking grin on his face. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Fields." His voice holds a slight accent, though I can't tell if it's English or French. His dark blonde hair looked tamed and well-tended to and it was obvious from his expensive clothes that he was well off. The man pulls out a pocket watch, making a gesture to someone behind me. I didn't have the chance to turn before strong arms wrapped around me, trapping my arms to my sides. "It's time we departed or we'll be late." Growling, I begin to fight as well as I can, but the man holding me quickly steps on my feet and tightens his grip. The first man advances on me-seeming to be thrilled as I continue to struggle and firmly presses on a spot on my shoulder. Then I'm lost to the darkness...

**Emmett**

Emmett glances up as an officer enters his office, looking as though he had been running for miles. "Officer Blunt," Emmett says gently," why don't you have a seat and tell me what's gotten you so flustered." The young man collapses in the offered chair; eyes nervously darting about the room—not focusing on anything for very long. _Gabriel Blunt has always been a nervous man_, Emmett recalls, _but never this worked up._

"I-I went by to check on Sarah and the children," he finally stutters, making a point not to meet his superior's curious gaze. Blunt opens and closes his mouth a mouth for a few minutes as though unsure how to continue. This makes Emmett begin to worry—a sense of dread covering him like a blanket. Something was obviously wrong and Sarah was somehow involved in it. He remembers the absolute terror he felt when Ivan had her hidden away and stands up, giving Blunt a look that could have frozen water. The redhead reaches into his pocket and drops an opened envelope on his desk before walking out with his head hanging low. Emmett quickly turns the envelope over and dumps its contents onto his spotless desk.

The blood drains from his face and his hands clench into fists. "Officer Daniels," he shouts, already storming out," get three of our best men and meet me at my house!" The other officers glance in shock at their friend's outburst. Emmett Fields was known for his calm demeanor and it took a lot to get him riled up like that. Lying on his desk is a lock of dark hair holding a slight curl and a slip of parchment with only three words written.

_'We have her.'_

Emmett sighs, hugging his children close to him as the officers comb the house for any other evidence. Elizabeth glances up at her father curiously, hazel eyes wide and full of an innocence that he would try to keep from being tarnished by the darkness in this world. "Why isn't mommy back yet," she asks softly, shyly glancing over Emmett's shoulder at one of the officers.

"Where did your mommy go, Liz?"

"She went to see Uncle Edgar, and then to the bookstore if it didn't start to rain." Of course, why hadn't he thought of that? He orders Daniels to take two of the three officers with him to the cemetery and the remaining officer to escort Emily and little Edgar back to their house. Emily glares at him and he can see just why his brother-in-law fell in love; she pulls people in with her beauty and shocks them into loving her with her attitude.

"I'm not leaving here until Sarah's back home and safe," Emily states, sitting Emmett down on the bed between Elizabeth and Andrew. "Now go find my sister or I will." Emmett sighs, shaking his head and rising from the bed after giving his children and his Godson a kiss on the head. "Emmett!" He stops in the doorway, looking at the blonde over his shoulder and noticing the tears gathering in her eyes that she refused to let fall in front of the children. "Kill that bastard." He nods, a fierceness turning his hazel eyes to stone and his face a mask.


	2. Chapter 2

_Where once was light  
Now darkness falls  
Where once was love  
Love is no more  
Don't say goodbye  
Don't say I didn't try  
_**Gollum's Song-Emiliana Torrini**

* * *

**Sarah**

I groan, resting my hand on my forehead and squinting against the harsh light created by oil lamps and a roaring blaze in the fireplace across the room. The room I'm being held in is spacious with a small balcony with a spiral staircase that lead down to the yard, grand marble fireplace, a massive bed, vanity, and a wardrobe—none of it was familiar to me. Upon standing, I rush to the glass double doors that lead to the balcony only to find both of them locked; the same for the door that leads out of the bedroom.

The storm raging outside made everything beyond the glass doors look like a washed out gray color and unrecognizable; there was no way to tell just where I am. I wander back to the glass doors, wishing I had something to break them with—gazing at my reflection: pale face with dark circles under my eyes, wild, dark hair framing my face and obscuring any of my peripheral vision and making me rely on the reflection in the glass to see if someone enters or not; someone had removed my corset and dress, leaving me in only a simple, white shift. This is just great. "You've finally woken," a familiar and unwanted voice states, but I don't bother to turn and face my kidnapper," good, now we can discuss why you were brought here." I watch his reflection closely in the glass doors as he begins to approach me at a languid pace. He's confidant; maybe that could be used against him later on.

"Why don't we start with your name and just where you've taken me," I snap, still facing away from him. The Englishman chuckles in amusement as one does when a small child tries to be serious. "I don't take very kindly to being laughed at, _sir_." I spit out the last word as though it were venom on my tongue. "Now answer me!" My rage showed clearly on my face, cheeks flushed and heart pounding rapidly. He brushes a strand of his auburn hair out of his face and behind his ear and focuses momentarily on brushing a fleck of imaginary lint of his jacket sleeve.

"My name is Nathaniel Blake and it would serve you well to remember your place, Sarah." His calm mask never slips, but his rigid posture gives him away. "Especially since your _precious _little girl will be arriving here very soon." My previously narrowed eyes widen in fear—fear that I have no clue who I'm dealing with, fear that I may die here, and fear of what might happen to my baby if I do not cooperate. "Yes, that's what I thought, Mrs. Fields."

"Why did you take me?" Blake smiles, resting his hands possessively on my shoulders and leans down to whisper in my ear.

"It'll break your husband."

I sigh, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, knees drawn up to my head with my arms wrapped around them and my chin resting on them while I watch the flames dance. Blake left two hours ago after delivering a painful slap (for no real reason) that knocked me to the ground. Not too long ago he had talked to someone just outside of my door and I figured he had no real plan after he takes Elizabeth; he better not hurt my baby girl unless he wants to find out how much damage a furious mother can do! "Bastard could have left me a robe," I grumble with a shiver, scooting closer to the fire.

I hear footsteps out in the hallway that seem to stop in front of my door and then the sound of a key turning in a lock before my door opens to reveal a pretty looking maid with her head lowered and a burly man that filled up the doorway. No doubt he is here to make sure I do not try anything foolish. The maid sets a tray of food down on the vanity along with a bottle of wine. _Well_, I think sullenly, _at least I can get drunk_...

**Emily**

I smile down at Elizabeth, watching as she focuses on her book with her tongue sticking out slightly—a gesture she'd learned by watching her mother. "You know this word," I tell her encouragingly," we read this one last night." She nods, opening her mouth to say the word, but was interrupted when Andrew runs into the study with Alayna, the maid I'd brought with me to help, chasing after him. Edgar shuffles in soon after, rubbing his eye and climbing up onto my lap.

"Mommy," he yawns, resting his head on my shoulder," tell Andrew to shush it and go to sweep." I grin at my five-year-old, knowing he was used to being in bed a few hours ago. He yawns again, glaring over at the hyper six-year-old. "I'm tired."

"Alright, bedtime for all children under the age of seven," I announce, standing with my son curled up in my arms," Liz, why don't you go turn your bed back and I'll meet you in there in a few minutes." She nods, setting the book down and making her way down the hall to her bedroom while Alayna scoops up Andrew and the four of us go to the room the boys will be sharing until I know Sarah is home safe and sound.

Edgar clutches at the front of my robe, stopping me from rising off the small bed. "Will Aunt Sarah be alright," he asks in a soft voice, making sure Andrew couldn't hear. I swallow hard, looking down at the sheets instead of in my baby's eyes. "Momma, will she?"

"I—I'm not sure, baby, but your Uncle Emmett is doing the best he can to find her and bring her back to us." He nods, closing his eyes and falling asleep within seconds; Andrew was a different matter entirely. "Sweetie, when I say it's time for bed I mean it." He lowers his dark eyes, looking at the wall instead of me—much like I had done moments ago with my own son. "Look, you don't want to be really sleepy when your mommy comes home, do you?"

"I guess not," he answers around a yawn, closing his eyes as I stroke some dark hair off his face. "I love you, Aunt Emily."

"I love you too, baby." Once I knew he was sound asleep before walking down the hall to Elizabeth.

A loud bang startles me awake, shooting up in bed to look around; whatever was the cause of it certainly wasn't in the guest bedroom. After a couple of seconds of groggy confusion, I could barely make out the sounds of footsteps downstairs—moving quickly with obvious purpose. The familiar sense of dread hits me like a wave and I jump up, moving fast and quietly to Elizabeth's room just next door to my own. The nine-year-old is already up and pulling on her robe when I enter the room, taking her hand and ushering her to move quickly to her brother's room.

"What's going on," she asks in a whisper, pushing wild curls out of the eyes.

"Someone's in the house—"

"Stop!" I turn at the new voice, finding a man standing at the end of the hall, pointing a gun in my direction. I pull Elizabeth behind me, wishing like hell I had some sort of weapon of my own. The big man chuckles, eyes roaming hungrily over my body—the shift I had on didn't leave much to the imagination, after all. "Shit, maybe we should've taken you instead of that other lady; you certainly look better." My jaw clenches, pushing Elizabeth further away, but making sure she was still hidden behind me. The man's voice was harsh and sounded gravelly and unused.

I look at the pistol in his hand, breath beginning to quicken as I think about what he had just said. He knows where Sarah is; he might even be the person that took her in the first place! If I could just get where she's being held I could tell Emmett and maybe Sarah would still be alright. "What's your name," I ask in a calm voice—calmer than I actually felt. I think back to how Sarah used to act around Emmett before they loved each other; back when she was just teasing him to see him blush. I didn't have much time to react before he charge forward and brought the butt of his pistol down on my head and I saw nothing but darkness that soon faded to white.

**Emmett**

Groaning, I unlock my front door and walk in—instantly hit with the overpowering stench of death. Frowning in worry, I follow the smell to the kitchen and find the body of Emily's maid lying face down in a pool of blood with obvious signs of a gunshot wound to the back of the head—she hadn't even seen it coming. "Emily," I shout, running out of the kitchen towards the stairs," children!?"

"Daddy!" Andrew and Edgar run down to meet me, both sets of eyes filled with tears. "Aunt Emily is hurt," Andrew cries, pointing up the stairs. I set both boys back down and stand up, looking up the stairs and I can barely make out another body on the ground.

"I want both of you to go outside to Daniels and stay with him until I come back out," I tell them gently, pushing them slightly towards the still-open front door. I don't start up the stairs until the boys are outside and making Daniels uncomfortable—he doesn't have any children yet nor does he have younger siblings. I rush over to Emily, crouching down and lifting her slightly and examining a nasty bruise of the side of her face and a small cut. "Emily?"

She groans, shaking her head and slowly open her eyes. "Emmett," she asks voice heavy with sleep and confusion. "W—where's—oh, God, Emmett, he knows where Sarah is!" Emily sits up quickly, clutching at the side of her head and looking around wildly. "He has her; h—he's got…"

"Emily, what are you talking about?"

"The man that broke in, he said that he wished I was they took instead of Sarah," her voice shook uncharacteristically," he knew where Sarah was and I couldn't even fight back enough to wait for you." She leans back against the wall with her eyes closed. "Are the kids alright?"

"Yeah, the boys are—"I stop talking; realizing quickly that something was off. The boys had run to me immediately, but I haven't even seen my daughter yet. "Emily, when was the last time you saw Elizabeth?"

"Um, when I was trying to get her down the hall before I was hit, why?" She looks up at me now, but I was looking straight ahead, a feeling of failure punching me in the gut. I had failed to save my wife, I had failed to keep Emily unharmed, and now I had failed to save my little girl. Who knows what was going to happen to her or why they even took her in the first place. "No," Emily gasps, shaking her head rapidly back and forth," no!"

Elizabeth had been taken and I won't stop until the bastard behind it all is six feet in the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

_The baby girl without a chance  
A victim of the circumstance  
The one who oughta give up  
But she's just too hard headed  
A single mom who works two jobs  
Who loves her kids and never stops  
With gentle hands and a heart of a fighter  
I'm a survivor  
_**I'm a Survivor-Reba McEntire**

* * *

**Blake**

I frown at the little girl sitting across from me, her constant sneering getting on my nerves quickly. She was only nine, for Christ's sakes, she shouldn't even know _how_ to sneer! "What is your name," I ask, not taking my eyes off the annoying creature. She crosses her arms; looking exactly like a younger, stubborn Sarah. "Answer me or I'll personally remove your pinky from your right hand."

"Elizabeth," she mutters, sitting on her fingers as if to protect them. "Where are we going?" I smirk, looking out the coach window at the dull Baltimore landscape. I prefer the country to cities—it's quieter and less claustrophobic. "Answer me or say goodbye to your pinky." Her tone was mocking, but her eyes shone with fury. She had her mother's temper and her father's bravery; I'll have to fix that while she's staying with me. "My daddy's gonna make you sorry."

"I'd love to see him try," I tell her darkly," I want him to put up a fight before I make him watch everyone he loves slaughtered." Her hazel eyes widen slightly in fear, beginning to shake. "Your father isn't invincible, Elizabeth; you'll see that in the end." Gulping, she lowers her head and looks down at her bare feet. She's lucky to have her robe because Raphael wouldn't have given her the chance otherwise. His methods would disgust most people, but the assassin usually gets the job done well enough.

"Why do you want me and my mommy?" It was an innocent question, asked hesitantly as if she didn't really want to know the answer.

"The kidnapping of Sarah will break Emmett, and by having you I can control your charming mother through fear." The girl wriggles slightly, obviously growing uncomfortable under my intimidating gaze. I smirk, looking out the window again at the dark, stormy day that made everything look washed out and gray. "Perhaps I'll let your mother see you—let her know that you'll receive punishment if she misbehaves."

I lean back against the bed's headboard, ankles crossed and eyes narrowed as the little creature continues to squirm away from her guard. She ignored Jorge's warnings and touched everything she could get her grimy, little hands on. "Take the little monster out into the hallway—once you're sure Sarah has seen her take her to her room and lock it," I command lazily, turning my head to look out the glass doors. The storm has gotten worse, as though sensing Field's emotions.

"Yes, my lord," Jorge bows, roughly dragging the child out of the room and shutting the door behind him. We've been back for ten minutes; forced to wait to see Sarah until she finished bathing. _Perhaps a few books would calm the woman's temper; _I think to myself, _then again, it could be used as a weapon. _The room was beginning to cool rapidly, but if everything, but if everything goes as I planned I'll be warm soon enough.

"Elizabeth!"

"Mommy, let me go, Mommy!" There was a brief commotion in the hall before the door opened, Sarah was pushed inside, and the door slammed shut once more.

"Hello, Mrs. Fields."

**Sarah**

I glare at Blake, pulling my robe tighter around me. "How have you been today; treated well, I hope?" I don't answer him, moving to sit on the vanity chair instead. "Come now," he says with a fake pout," are you really going to make me talk about myself all night?" I don't get a chance to respond before he begins speaking again. "Well, let's see, I was born in London and spent three years in France and one in Italy; my father—"

"Lord Blake, please, for the love of God, shut that enormous mouth of yours." He glares at me, a predatory gleam entering his eyes that made fear cloud my mind—a fear I haven't felt since Emmett rescued me from Ivan. I remember his threat from my first night here about hurting my daughter if I didn't obey and instantly regret interrupting him. "Please, let Elizabeth go and I'll do whatever you want," I promise in a whisper. "I—I promise …." But I could tell my begging fell on deaf ears as he slowly got off the bed and began to advance on me. Self-preservation kicks in and I scramble to get up, knowing my door was unlocked, but only manage to trip halfway to my destination.

"That's enough," Blake snarls, grabbing my ankles and pulling me back towards him. "It's time you were taught a lesson in obedience!"

_And suddenly I was back on the train with Ivan standing over me. I couldn't fight, he had me drugged; I couldn't scream, he had a gag in my mouth so as not to alert the other passengers of what was going on. "It's time you were taught a lesson in obedience!" He brings the belt down—the leather leaving red welts behind on my stomach … arms … thighs; wherever he knew would hurt the most. He's sadistic and took pleasure in my muffled screams; he continued to lash out until I couldn't scream anymore. "Maybe now you'll behave as a lady should—I don't need you to embarrass me again."_

_I can't remember exactly what I did to get him so furious, but I do remember that, whatever it was, it was small and wouldn't bother normal people. Ivan isn't normal though, normal people wouldn't do the things he's done or plans to do. "P—please," I groan around the gag, eyes quickly filling with tears. Ivan pulls me into a sitting position by the front of my dress and backhands me. He didn't look displeased anymore; in fact, he seemed ecstatic. A cat playing with a mouse just before it grows bored and kills it._

"_That's enough, Sarah," he chuckles, dropping his belt on the floor," hold real still—this is the perfect time to draw you, you're vulnerable." I've found his other drawings—he drew me naked most of the time, made me look on the brink of ecstasy. He drew them from memory with stolen utensils._

Blake picks something up off the bed—papers—and looks through them with interest, peering at whatever's on them for long moments before moving on to the next. He barely glances at me, but when he does his dark eyes are burning with lust. "Well, well, Mrs. Fields, this little present wasn't entirely expected." I wince as my bruised cheek begins to ache. "These are certainly nice; very detailed and realistic." He falls silent again, walking over to me, drops the papers on the floor beside me, and walks out of the room—locking the door behind him. The papers had detailed drawings on them; drawings of a younger, naked me on the brink of ecstasy.

**Emmett**

I sigh, holding my wife's lock of hair in my fingers and hoping that it was the only part of her the kidnapper cut off. I was beginning to grow worried that I've not been contacted again in the past few days, especially since my daughter is now missing. Everything seemed to be falling apart around me and I can't find the person responsible! If it weren't for Emily I don't know if I could handle the inferno burning inside of me. Andrew and Edgar are terrified that they'll be taken in their sleep or murdered. It's all just ridiculous! People don't just disappear into thin air; I have men tearing Baltimore apart trying to find my girls. "Detective," Daniels says, poking his head into my office," we may have found something."

The place I'm taken to is a familiar one—my first real serial killer. The dark house's floor is scattered with trash and animal feces, the door had been kicked in, and the chimney had words painted in black across the bricks and an envelope taped just below the words._ 'Life is a puzzle, Inspector, solve it and your wife's life will last a bit longer.' _I grab the large envelope and tear it open; expecting another lock of hair or something worse, but not a drawing. Especially not a drawing of Sarah lying on an expensive carpet—left eye swollen, bottom lip bleeding profusely as well as various other parts of her body. The shift and thin robe she wears is torn in several places, revealing bright red welts on her skin. It looks as though Ivan has somehow risen from the dead and began his vicious beatings once more!

My hands clench into fists and I throw the drawing with a howl of rage. What kind of monster would do something like this to an innocent family? I didn't know of any that wasn't already cold in the ground and being eaten by worms. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, I regain control of my emotions. "Daniels, try and figure out whom else was here before us and then report back to me."

"Yes, sir," Daniels nods, hurrying down the rickety staircase to talk to anyone who might have seen something. I look around me, remembering the horrible scene from nine years ago of a mother's neck being cut with a straight razor nearly to the point of decapitation and her young daughter strangled and shoved into the chimney. _She and Sarah had similar features_, I recall, rubbing my jaw and looking down at a bit of blood splatter; old, probably from one of the home's old occupants. How a man could enjoy killing innocents without feeling any remorse I'll never understand nor do I want to. Seeing such grizzly scenes is enough to make a strong man ready to break down, but to know that it could possible happen to my family makes me sick—as if somebody had just punched me in the stomach.

With a shudder, I leave the home to sit in the coach and wait on Daniels to finish up. I feel cold and shaky, not trusting my legs to keep me upright any longer. "The neighbors swear they didn't see anything," Daniels states before I could open my mouth to ask," But one man seemed to be out of place—someone named Blake, I believe." I nod, looking out the window and missing the cloaked figure standing just out of the shadows with a wicked grin on his face.

**A/N: And there's a little glimpse into the mind of our newest psychopath—R&R and tell me what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

_When it gets cold outside and you got nobody to love  
You'll understand what I mean when I say  
There's no way we're gonna give up  
And like a little girl cries in the face of a monster that lives in her dreams  
Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to_ breathe  
**Harder to Breathe-Maroon 5**

* * *

**Blake (Non-con; don't like, don't read until Sarah's PoV)**

I look down at the sleeping woman, taking in the fact that she had fallen asleep reading only a few hours before—the book that had been occupying her time lying on the ground. Kicking it away, I sit on the bed beside her, placing a hand lightly on her thigh. She shifts in her sleep, drawing a deep breath and pulling the cover up to her chin. I watch her closely; afraid she would wake too early and take the fun out of everything. Carefully, I inch my hand further up until it is resting just under her right breast.

Sarah moans low in her throat, eyebrows drawn together. Grinning, I lean down and press my lips against hers hard, likely bruising them. Sarah's eyes shoot open and she begins to struggle; only adding to the intense hatred I felt towards her husband for what he did to my brother. I had to find a way that would break him and this was as good as any. So, swallowing whatever honor I had left, I continued in my task. Sarah rakes her sharp nails down my face, ripping an angry cry from my lips as I backhand her. "This would be so much easier if you would cooperate, Sarah," I growl, pinning her hands above her head with one of mine.

Her eyes widen and glaze over, as though reliving some painful memory from her past, struggles ceasing for the time being. Taking advantage of her going still, I pull her shift up to her hips and move her smallclothes aside—quickly unlacing my britches—and plunging into her warmth, holding in a hiss. The jolt seems to make Sarah regain her focus and her struggling resumes, though a bit more subdued than before. "No," she screams as tears cascade down her flushed cheeks. "No, please!" I pay little attention to her, focusing instead on the chain reaction that had started once I kidnapped Sarah.

It doesn't take to long for me to reach completion, the knot coiling in my belly snapping as I nearly collapse atop Sarah, barely managing to roll off onto my side.

**Sarah**

Shaking, I pull on a robe and scoot as far from Blake as I could without falling off the bed. What he had just done should be punishable by death and I have no doubt that when Emmett catches him, Blake will be killed slowly and painfully. I wince as a familiar pain rushes through me, causing me to collapse on my side with a grunt. "Don't exert yourself, Sarah," Blake chuckles breathlessly," I don't want you too tired just yet." I close my eyes, barely able to keep my tears at bay.

"You're disgusting," I snarl, not able to turn over and face him because of the pain and afraid of what I might see in his eyes. "My husband will kill you for what you've done." My voice is shaky and breaks in places, but it still held the confidence I feel in Emmett. Blake gets up and, judging from the sound of rustling fabric, begins to dress. I don't move from my spot on the edge of the bed, my eyes glued to the floor and focusing of not shaking so much. When Blake comes back in my view he is fully clothed and brushing some dirt off of his coat sleeve.

"Get up," he orders, tapping his foot impatiently. I glare at him, trying to push myself into a sitting position slowly and carefully. He sighs, grabbing one of my arms and pulling me off the bed and onto the floor. I let out a shout of pain, instinctively curling into a ball. He lets out an irritated sigh, putting me over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes; grabbing my robe on the way out of the room. We enter the room across the hall where he drops me into an armchair and tosses me my robe. "For your ah ... participation earlier, you can have a short visit with that demon you call a child." He spits out the word child—as though it were poison.

He stands off to the side as the door to the room we're in opens and a large man shoves my daughter into the room with a brief smile. I glare at him, taking my little girl into my arms and holding her as tightly as I could without hurting her. I had no idea what's happened to her, but I can only hope that it hasn't been too terrible. "Baby," I breathe, brushing some of her hair off her face and behind her ear," are you okay; have they hurt you?"

"I'm fine, mommy," she shrugs, crawling up into my lap and laying her head on my shoulder. "Are you okay ... I heard you screaming earlier and then it got all quiet?" I bite the inside of my cheek as I think up something I could tell her without revealing the truth. She's too young to know any of the things Blake has done to me tonight. "Mommy?"

"Um ..."

"Your mother learned what happens when she doesn't obey," Blake interrupts in a bored tone. "I'd be on my best behavior if I were you, Elizabeth." I glare at him over my shoulder, holding Elizabeth closer to me. "Now, Raphael tells me that he caught you planning a little escape." My daughter ducks her head, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her nightgown. "I can't just let that go, can I? Stand up, please, Elizabeth." The large man that shoved her inside picks her up and drops her onto the ground, keeping one hand on my shoulder so that I can't run to her. Blake slowly walks over to Elizabeth with a lazy grin—knowing that when he hurt Elizabeth he hurt me. "Apologize to me." When my daughter only raises her chin proudly (looking just like her father) he backhands her and sends her flying to the ground. "I expect you to listen to me next time."

The man finally lets me go and I drop to my knees beside my daughter, taking Blake's handkerchief and holding it to Elizabeth's nose to stop the bleeding. "You bastard," I growl, glaring up at Blake and daring him to hit me too. The large man grabs me by my upper arms and hauls me to my feet, the handkerchief falling to the ground as I'm dragged back to my room with the door shut and locked behind me.

**Emmett**

I walk into a large room, looking around and noticing that this is the place Griswold was found cut in two around five years ago. A frustrated growl escapes as I look over the scene, finding nothing out of the ordinary at first. "Daniels, are you sure this is the location the men found someone sneaking out of," I ask without turning around. When I get no answer from the officer, I do turn and find him looking at the table where the top half of Griswold had been. The table has been wiped clean and now had something sitting on it. I quickly walk over to the table, picking up the envelope that had my name written on the font in an elegant script.

Inside are a piece of parchment and a bloody handkerchief. _'One of the pieces found, Detective; you'd better hurry though, your wife is beginning to waver in her faith._' I clench my teeth, swallowing a howl of rage as I crumple up the paper and throw it as hard as I could manage. "Sir, is it from the kidnapper," Daniels asks hesitantly, head cocked slightly to the side.

"Yes, Daniels, it is and he's playing a game with us; I just can't figure out the rules yet." There's no doubt I was growing agitated at the lack of any real results, but I don't care anymore as long as I can get my girls away from the sick bastard that is holding them. "Come on, there's nothing else here that can help us."

**I almost cried as I wrote Blake's PoV; it was hard, but I got through it and tried to avoid any real detail in that aspect. Anyway, I'm stuck inside as I write this 'cause of snow (too clumsy to chance goin' out) so it was either write this chapter or re-watch Lord of the Rings for the billionth time this week. Anyone else excited for The Hobbit 2; I fangirled when I realized Luke Evans was in it and Evangeline Lilly was too (she's who I based Sarah's looks on)!**


	5. Chapter 5

_Well I never pray  
But tonight I'm on my knees yeah  
I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah  
I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now  
But the airways are clean and there's nobody singing to me_ now  
**Bittersweet Symphony-The Verve/Megan Hilty**

* * *

**Sarah**

Sighing, I pick up a book that had been left in my room and begin to read without really seeing the words. Not even reading could keep my thoughts on task, thinking instead of how my son was doing; that in turn made me think of Elizabeth. I set the book down next to me on the floor, picking up a drawing that Blake had left in my room a few nights ago—studying his technique and noticing one thing that seemed to stand out; it looked just like Ivan's drawings of me. Same difficulty with shading properly, same signature on the back (mainly a scribble), and the same small imperfection on my left shoulder—Ivan had always drawn a small scar there and he would never tell me why, this drawing had that same scar.

These weren't drawn by Blake that much I was sure of. In fact, judging by a scribble that looks similar to an eight, this was drawn only months before my brother's death. _How the hell had Blake gotten hold of Ivan's drawing? _Shaking my head, I crumple the drawing up and throw it onto my untouched breakfast tray. Ivan kept his drawings close by until we made a quick stop on the way to the train station and he mailed them off to some relative, and if Blake has them...I am well beyond fucked.

Shivering in disgust, I bang my fist against the door until the giant of a man opens it and gives me a questioning grunt. "I'm not hungry," I say, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. The man stays where he is, giving me a dumb look. "It's not that hard of a concept to grasp; you pick up my tray and take it back to the kitchens for some maid or another to dispose of." He still doesn't move and I roll my eyes. "Why do I always get stuck with the stupid ones?" I cross the room and pick up my tray, walking back to the door, and holding out for the man to take.

"I may not be smart," he grumbles, taking the tray," but I ain't stupid." He slams the door behind him and locks it, stomping away. Jesus, you'd think taking a tray downstairs was beneath him or something the way he acted. The staff around this place may be few, but the few here are grouchier than the sailors at the tavern I used to work at. I pull the cover off the bed and wrap it about my shoulders, settling on the expensive carpet in front of the massive fireplace.

"Too bad Blake has terrible taste in books," I murmur to no one, shivering slightly as the fire begins to die. Usually around this time a maid would come in to add more wood, but the house been strangely quiet lately. Pursing my lips, I look around the room in disinterest; I still had nothing in here to entertain me minus the book and looking out the doors that led to the balcony. Blake had my vanity seat taken out so that I wouldn't be tempted to use it as a weapon or even break the glass doors. Looking down at the book beside me, I can't help but wonder if it could do the job. I don't get to contemplate that very much when my door opens to reveal the scowling face of Blake.

"Where is it," he snarls at me, face twisted in rage. "Where is the drawing that was brought to you three days ago?!"

"On my breakfast tray," I answer automatically, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Had he not put it there himself just to get under my skin? Obviously not, because he pulls me off the floor by the front of my shift, eyes shining with an almost uncontrolled madness—much like Ivan's had. "Did you not want me to see your brother's drawings, my lord?" I hadn't any idea what relation Blake was to Ivan, but apparently my guess was correct because Blake throws me to the ground, swearing that he'd make whoever told me pay.

"You will keep your mouth shut about this, whore." And then he was gone again, stomping away much like his man had done only moments before.

**Blake**

Snarling, I punch the maid, feeling one of the bones in her delicate face give way to my fist. "How could you let that drawing fall into her hands," I growl as the maid, Eleanor, begins to cry. I punch her again and again even as she tried to escape the tight grip I had in her hair. Growling, I pull her back, sitting on her middle as I wrapped the fingers of my free hand around her throat and begin to squeeze. "You need to learn to follow orders, Eleanor. It's your fault she found out."

Her dark eyes widen in fear, her hand pulling at mine as I squeeze harder. "My lord." I look up at Raphael's hoarse voice, not letting up on Eleanor as I look up at my friend. "Perhaps she's learned her lesson." I glance down at the maid, smiling slightly when I see her face has turned a light shade of purple.

Slowly, I release her and get to my feet. "Pack your things and be grateful that Raphael stopped me when he did." Coughing and gasping, Eleanor scrambles away on her hands and knees as fast as she could. "Servants these days have no respect." Raphael says nothing, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, examining the room thoroughly. "Tomorrow I want you to go and get that woman you have been lusting after—think of it as a gift for being such a loyal employee."

"Thank you, my lord." Raphael nods, exiting the room once I had full control back.

Sighing, I use a pot as a mirror and smooth my hair back into place; combing my fingers through the thick mess to take the tangles out. I smile at my reflection, knowing I got better genes than my elder brother; I was certainly better looking. Ivan had been nice looking, but took after our mother and her fondness for poisons. Too bad for him that the inheritance came to me and he was sent to live with our Uncle in Boston while I moved to France. Perhaps I will return to France when this business with the Fields family is finished.

I nod, picking up an apple before I leave the kitchens for my room. It had been my uncle's when he was alive, and Ivan's after that; both men had no sense of proper decor and the room had been dark and bland before I had moved in, now the room had new wallpaper, the drapes thrown back, and a few cheerful paintings on the wall. "Yes, it's slowly becoming inhabitable," I nod, hands on my hips as I look around.

Once the remodeling is completely finished, I plan to sell it to some idiot that doesn't know any better. My eyes land on the only other maid I have as she quickly finishes up her dusting. She was a pretty young woman, with light blonde hair and wide, hazel eyes. She's been obedient thus far, being unable to talk certainly made things better. Perhaps I would take her with me back to France. Anamarie, I believe her name is; no family that I know of and close to Mister Parker—the man I'd chosen to guard her whenever she had to go in Sarah's room.

"Mrs. Fields needs more wood on her fire," I state, smiling when she nods and scurries away with Mister Parker following silently behind her.

**Emmett**

I run into the ballroom, looking around for some clue that I knew had to be there. So far, I've been taken to most of the places I had to visit during Ivan's murder spree in order and this was the next on the list. Daniels looks around with me, confusion in his gaze as he scratches the back of his neck. "Might I ask why we're here, sir?"

"If I'm right, this will be the place where the next clue will be," I answer, scanning the room where Sarah was nearly trampled by a man on horseback. Shaking the disturbing thought out of my head, I walk to the other side of the room, finding an envelope propped up on the mantel with his name written on the front in a handwriting that was far nicer than anyone's I knew. I pick it up and tear it open, expecting to find something of my family's and I am not disappointed. Inside is Sarah's wedding ring, a band of silver with silver flowers on either side of a well-sized diamond; I clutch the ring tightly in my hand as I pull out the parchment . _'You're moving quicker, but not quite quick enough; Elizabeth's life hangs in the balance.'_

"Detective, over here!" I run over to Daniels, finding a mutilated animal. "Who would do something like this to an innocent animal?"

"The same man responsible for taking my wife and daughter." I throw the parchment on the ground, running a hand through my hair. "Get someone here to clean that up before it's seen."

"Yes, sir," Daniels nods, jogging out to the coach to get Officer Blunt's assistance. I can't let this man win; I can't risk loosing Sarah again, not after all we've been through. With shaking hands, I put the wedding ring in my pocket and walk outside. The wind was bitingly cold and the pouring rain didn't help, but in that moment, I couldn't feel it as my rage tried to take sole control.

"Sir, if I let you catch your death out here your wife will be the cause of mine," Blunt says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"You're sure we will get my girls back?"

"I'm sure enough for the both of us, sir." And that was all I needed to hear.


	6. Chapter 6

_If I stay, it won't be long  
'Til I'm burning on the inside  
If I go I can only hope  
That I make it to the other side  
If I stay, it won't be long  
'Til I'm burning on the inside  
_**Get Out Alive-Three Days Grace**

* * *

**Elizabeth (Earlier)**

I press my ear against the door, listening carefully for any signs that my guard had come back early. Only when I'm absolutely certain he was still eating dinner downstairs do I tiptoe to my balcony doors, hands clenched into fists and breathing deeply; my plan was relatively simple, but it didn't stop the butterflies from fluttering around in my stomach. With one last look around the room that has been my prison for the last couple of weeks; I take the pin out of my hair and stick it into the lock of the balcony doors.

Mom had taught me how to pick a lock when I was Andrew's age and the knowledge hasn't faded away over the years like daddy hoped it would.

Soon both doors are open and fresh air, heavy with the scent of rain, floats inside. "This is it," I whisper to myself," I am going to escape and show my father exactly where this prison is so that he can rescue Mom." Nodding with false confidence, I step outside, shivering in the cold. I start down the spiraling staircase that leads from the balcony into a garden full of what once had been beautiful flowers and several foreign plants, but now all that remains is a rotting shell. The ground beneath my bare feet is wet and slippery in some spots and dry and course in others where they are covered by what's left of the plants.

After a moment of getting my bearings, I begin to sprint towards the tree line; I go as fast as I can, not wanting to be caught if I am spotted. It would not due to be caught and have Blake hurt my mother again. It did not take very long for my breathing to turn into nothing but pants and gasps for air and the tree line was nowhere near close enough to hide in. Shouts could be heard behind me followed by the sounds of hurried footsteps and muffled curses as the men slid in the mud. "No," I sob, desperate tears running in streams down my face as the footsteps grow nearer and rain begins to fall. "No!" One of the men chasing me lunges forward and knocks me to the ground, driving the air from my lungs.

"Little bitch," he grumbles, turning me onto my back and sitting on my stomach, not letting enough air in my lungs. "Next time you run away make sure nobody's posted outside." He backhands me, making my head snap to the side and the world goes blurry. The man is yanked off me and thrown to the ground by the larger man that usually guards my room.

"Leave the little one alone, Peters," he rasps out, picking me up and carrying my over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes—back to the manor house that's become Momma's and my prison. Dazed from the hard blow to the head, I don't put up much of a struggle; in fact, the most I can really do is grumble a curse I'd heard escape Momma's lips when she thought she was alone and trying to sew. Momma wasn't good at sewing and usually pricked her finger. I smile a little, remembering that day with a fond smile on my face. Aunt Emily took over the sewing and had been teaching me how to sew while Momma taught Edgar how to read.

I'm jerked out of the small reverie when the man carrying me drops me onto my bed, the balcony doors once again closed and locked and my pins missing. "Does Blake know," I ask, voice rough from crying. The man, Raphael, I think, nods, stuffing one of his hands in his pocket.

"You'll see him when he's finished with your mother." He pauses in the door way, giving me a brief sympathetic look over his shoulder. "Do what he says; he has no qualms about hurting children."

**Sarah**

_I frown as I look out the window, watching the scenery blur as it we speed by it. Ivan had been gone all morning, so my the almost hourly dose of Laudanum hasn't been given and my head felt clearer, and clearer means I can remember the things that happened a few weeks past. Edgar is probably dead, Emmett is seriously injured by a gunshot wound that Ivan loves to boast about, and now I am stuck on a train with a madman; surely things could not get any worse. I take a deep, shuddering breath as I pick up the book he had thrown at me before he'd left the train car for breakfast; _Journey to the Center of the Earth _by Jules Vern. __That was the man Ivan was planning on stalking next; just like he had Edgar and myself. Hopefully this one escaped instead of falling into Ivan's web. The door of our car opens and Ivan slips inside, holding a bottle of alcohol and swaying unsteadily on his feet. Intoxicated and it's not even five O'clock yet? I shake my head subtly, scooting down further on the sleeping couch, pulling my blanket tighter around me. Maybe he wouldn't notice me if I made myself small._

_"Sarah," he slurs, looking around and narrowing his eyes slightly as if to see better. Shaking, I pray silently that he doesn't find me at least this once. When he's drunk, Ivan becomes crueler than usual; not to mention rough. "Sarah!" I squeeze my eyes shut, fingers clutching the cross I had stolen a few years ago from a some Lord or another that had many more back home. "Little whore," he grumbles, leaving the room and slamming the door closed behind him._

_After a few minutes of silence, I let the cover fall off of me, sucking in a few deep breaths of air. He was getting drunk more and more often; claiming the death of my brother as his reason. Perhaps it was a way to battle his madness, because he was very obviously mad in some form or another. You would have to be insane to murder so many people without any real reason or emotions._

_Footsteps pausing outside the car makes me pause and hold my breath._

_"Are you sure she is not in here, sir?"_

_"Of course I am sure; it would be hard to lose a woman in that tiny compartment!" The door slides open and a man follows Ivan inside. Ivan no longer swayed, actually, he looked sober for the first time in two days. And then I noticed the differences; his hair was a light blonde and longer, his clothing finer, and his face had changed almost completely. The man following Ivan left and slowly Ivan's began to change even more until Blake stood in his place._

"No," I scream, shooting up in bed and looking around wildly for any sign of Blake, but I was alone back in my room in Blake's home.

It was all a nightmare.

**Emmett**

I give my son a sympathetic glance as he comes forward, wrapping my arms around him and giving him a tight hug. "I'll be back soon, try to get some rest." Andrew nods, following a maid to his room. Emily had convinced after the break-in to move my son and I into her home, if not for anything but Andrew's safety. Surely the criminals didn't know where she lived. Charles Hamilton stands next to me, a firm hold on my shoulder as the others go their separate ways.

"Bring them back safely, Detective," he tells me in a soft voice so as not to be overheard," I've grown attached to those girls and I'll not be burying them anytime soon."

"Yes, sir," I nod before walking out into the rain and climbing into my awaiting coach. The next place, if I remember correctly, will be the theater where Edgar was nearly killed by Ivan. Old memories resurface and I recall the banter between Cantrell and Sarah; always ending in Cantrell's blushing. He was a good man and loyal to those he thought deserved it, but now he was dead and I'm chasing another madman.

When we pass the burnt out shell of Edgar's old house I can't help the wince; that happened the night Sarah and Edgar began staying in my home; along with that little raccoon, Carl, that had wormed its way into everyone's hearts, but mine. It purposefully scattered papers off of my desk, threw fruit pieces at me if I passed by when it was eating—I hated it. "Sir, we're here." I jump slightly, nodding and climbing out with Daniels following behind me. The theater was closed today and it took quite a bit of bribing to get the owner to come in and unlock it.

"Detective Fields," the rotund man at the door nods, holding the door open for my men and me. I go down to the lockers, searching for the one that had held the tongue of Maurice; a sailor that Ivan had murdered and dressed up like Emily. Growing impatient, I start slinging locker doors open; all of them being empty confused me.

"Keep searching," I call out to the others, slamming the last locker door closed. "Think, Emmett," I mutter to myself," where did you go once you got inside the theater?" I spin around and look at the table where we opened the box holding the tongue and quill. Surely the clue would be somewhere in here...

I tip the table over, finding an envelope taped to the bottom. Inside is the usual bit of parchment and something else; another drawing, this time of Elizabeth, her bottom lip split and bleeding. Color rises in my cheeks as rage makes my hands shake. _'I wasn't lying, Detective, your precious daughter will suffer as you soon will.' _No one suspicious has been seen around here," Daniels informs me.

"No," I answer," madmen make it an art to look normal and blend in."


	7. Chapter 7

_I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun  
Wait by the door and light a cigarette  
If he wants a fight well now he's got one  
And he ain't seen me crazy yet  
He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll  
Don't that sound like a real man  
I'm gonna show him what a little girls are made of  
Gunpowder and lead  
_**Gunpowder and Lead-Miranda Lambert**

* * *

**Emily**

A strange sound gains my attention, the sound of a door opening—one of the doors downstairs judging the fact that the sound of rain got just a touch louder than before. Setting down the book I was reading to Andrew and Edgar, I leave the sleeping boys and creep downstairs, making sure to skip the step that always squeaked when weight was put on it. There, in the shadows of my father's study, is a man; too large to be any other person than the man that had broken in and stolen Elizabeth away, but a man nonetheless. I grab a vase and tiptoe forward without a sound, those terrible years of dance that my father put me through finally coming in handy for the first time since then. The man shuffles through the room towards the desk at the far wall, his back to me as he rummages through drawers and the papers scattered over the top. Swallowing past a lump in my throat, I bring the vase down hard on his head—glass shattering and the man falling to the ground with a soft grunt before going completely still.

"Oh, my God," I gasp, stumbling backwards a few feet," I just knocked a man unconscious...Sarah would be proud." With a brief laugh, I turn the man over and see the same gruff face from the other night. This is definitely the man that kidnapped Elizabeth all those nights ago, probably the same man that kidnapped Sarah as well.

"What in God's name is going on here," my father shouts, throwing open the curtains that covered the large window across the room and charging over. "Who is that?"

"The man that broke into Emmett's house and took Elizabeth; could you help me with him, daddy, he's really large." Father gets a determined look on his face, grabbing one of the man's arms and, together, we haul him up and into the office chair—Daddy keeps him there while I search for some rope to tie the man up with. "Where are you?" Growing impatient, I run to the linen closet and start pulling out sheets and pillowcases; running back to the office with them, I begin to tie the man into place with my father looking on with a now amused expression. "Don't give me that look, I couldn't find any rope." I stop for a moment and look up at him. "What kind of man does not have any rope in his home?"

With a scowl, he takes over to make sure the knots are secure like he'd taught me to make them when I was just a little girl—barely older than Elizabeth is. "Now, call me when he wakes up, I'm going to check on the children."

"Yes, sir," I smile, giving him a mock solute, pulling my robe closer around me as I sit up on the edge of his desk—careful not to step on any glass.

"And clean this mess up; I don't want you cutting yourself." With that he walks out, grumbling under his breath about daughters and their strange impulses.

"This is going to be a long night."

**Sarah**

I glance up at the large man standing in the doorway and then at the fragile-looking maid standing next to him with her head bowed and tiny hands clasped in front of her; face looking like mine did after one of Ivan's famous beatings. Bringing a forkful of eggs to my mouth, I take the sharp knife off the tray and hide it in the vanity drawer while the guard was glancing around the room. With a shaky breath, I continue to pick at my food, pushing it around my plate to make it look as though I ate. _Why even bother feeding me, it's not as if he actually cares if he's going to kill me anyway_. "I'm finished," I tell the maid, giving her a bored look over my shoulder. She starts forwards, the guard shadowing her as she picks up the tray. His hand is heavy on my shoulder as he looks down at the tray's contents.

"Get 'im good or put it back on the tray," he whispers in my ear, sending dark look in my direction.

"Don't worry," I whisper back," I've dealt with men like him before."

"Yes, I heard; you handled his brother very well on that train. Are you still having those nightmares or was Blake just bragging about nothing again?" my head snaps in his direction, but he and the maid have already left, leaving me alone in the much too quiet room. With another deep breath, I pull the knife out and look at it, fascinated as the silver caught the candlelight and flashed dangerously. This could be the key to getting my daughter and me out of this hell hole, a small knife meant for nothing more than cutting eggs and buttering toast. Somehow I knew this was something that could help immensely and the fact that his own guard wanted me to use this was great news for me in terms of an ally.

Smiling a little for the first time in God knows how long, I hide the knife under the mattress and then climb back in bed. Apparently Blake has decided that I didn't deserve a fire to keep my room warm so I had to make do with the thick comforter on my bed, and that meant staying in bed unless eating. Blake would come soon; he always does around this time when the sky is just beginning to turn a fiery orange-red with streaks of pink shot through it. Beautiful if not for the constant visits that forced my gaze away from it and onto hard eyes with insanity burning in them—Blake was slowly growing even more insane than he had been when I was first brought here, becoming irritable and easy to anger. Perhaps that maid had brought his tea one day instead of his morning cup of coffee and she was forced to pay?

* * *

When Blake comes to visit I surreptitiously slip the knife out from under the mattress and into my hand while Blake was busy taking in his appearance in the glass doors of the balcony. "I was told you aren't eating, is that true, Sarah?"

"Ask your guard dog," I grumble, shifting uncomfortably in the bed when his gaze lands on me. There's something other than insanity burning in those eyes tonight and I didn't much like it. "I'm tired, I think I'll go to sleep early tonight and get a fresh start on my book in the morning." He smiles, walking over to me looking like a Panther that's just cornered its pray. "Please, lord Blake, I am very wary."

"Doesn't matter, you'll obey me or suffer the consequences." I pull the knife out and leave a deep gash on his cheek, making him fall backwards with a scream of pain. The guard from earlier burst inside, dragging Blake out of the room and sending me a wink in the process. Yes, this knife would definitely come in handy to keep Blake away; maybe next time I'll aim lower and get his pride. I smile again, wiping the blood off on the clean, white sheets that Blake loves to boast about. '_They cost more than your precious detective makes in two years_.' Stupid, little prick!

**Emmett**

I run a hand through my hair in frustration; if I could pace in a coach I would be doing it now. We're on our way to one of the many entrances to the network of tunnels that are under the city. That should be the next place a clue will be if my theory is correct. I hope to God it's correct for the sake of my wife and daughter—I cannot fail them when they need me the most. "Sir, it's going to be fine," Daniels says confidently," we all know that the kidnapper will most probably return the girls because they are giving him hell." I can't help but chuckle at that, knowing well just how much Elizabeth is like her mother and also knowing that both of them had the ability to drive others insane.

"Yes, you're right about the giving them hell part, but I fear that that may just get them hurt." Daniels lowers his head and Blunt scratches the back of his neck in a nervous manner. "This is surely the right place." When the coach stops, the three of us hop out with lanterns and rush under the streets into the tunnels, sloshing through the water as quickly and carefully as we can. Slowly, the tunnels begin to grow familiar and I realize why when we come to a large hole in the wall where we'd found the sailor dressed as Emily with the map on his back. I hold my lantern into the hole, half expecting to see that shadowy figure again, but Ivan is dead and no one is there now; just darkness. "I don't understand," I mumble in confusion," this is where we found Maurice; it would make the most sense for it to be right here."

"Didn't you and Sarah chase Ivan through the tunnels while the others helped Mister Poe," Blunt asks. The chase comes back with shocking clarity: running blindly, Sarah chasing after me, falling off the ladder...One of the greatest moments of my life afterwards when Poe and Sarah showed up at my door in need of shelter. Fighting to keep a blush from rising, I begin to run once more. We'd barely missed Ivan in the tunnels, but it worked out decently all things considered. The other two run behind me, already gasping because of the strain of fighting through the waist deep water. Because of all the rain we've had recently, the tunnels were quickly filling up.

"Detective," Daniels shouts," are you sure this is the way?" I don't pay attention to him, sprinting the best I can towards the ladder Sarah and I fell from all those years ago.

"Nearly there," I call over my shoulder, rounding the corner and finding the familiar spot, coming to halt just before I ran into the metal ladder. "This is it!" I grab the envelope that was tied to one bar of it, ripping it open and pulling out the parchment. '_Black, blue, and red paint your wife's fair skin. Such a tempting woman she is, I may have to have another taste._' I let out a low growl of pure fury, crumpling the letter in my fist and throwing it down into the water. There's only one more thing inside the envelope, the necklace I'd given to Elizabeth on her fourth birthday: A golden heart with a lace pattern cut into it and a ruby inside. She wouldn't take this off without a struggle and a few choice words that she'd learned when Sarah thought no one was around.

"What was it, sir?"

"Obviously, just look at his face." I clutch the necklace tightly as I turn and make my way back out of the tunnels to the surface, shaking from both cold and fury; I climb into the coach and wait for the others to appear.

"I will have this man's head," I growl lowly, watching through narrowed eyes as Elizabeth's necklace catches the fading light of the sun.

**Sorry if this chapter is really crappy, I've been writing a lot of Lord of the Rings stuff for my best friend's profile (Terasa) and I'm trying to catch up on this fanfic—doesn't help that my back feels like Satan punched me and then let Sam Winchester step on me. Sorry, didn't mean to rant, but there's my excuse for the slowness. You should check out the Lord of the Rings story; the first story is being edited and I've gotten chaps 1-11 fixed, the title is "Ashley did it!" and the sequel is called "I Didn't do it!"**


	8. Chapter 8

_One jump ahead of the slow pokes  
One skip ahead of my doom  
Next time gonna use a nom de plume  
One jump ahead of the hitmen  
One hit ahead of the flock  
I think I'll take a stroll around the block  
_**One Jump Ahead-Aladdin**

* * *

**Andrew**

I stare curiously at the man tied to a chair, holding tightly to a frying pan in case he woke up too soon. Aunt Emily's instructions were clear and easy to follow: don't let the man stay awake if she's not present. This is the most exciting job I've ever been asked to do; second only to that time when Momma had me watching Elizabeth when she was talking to the little boy down the road—Timothy I think. Almost jumping with excitement, I raised the pan when the man begins to stir, anger I've never felt before rising as thoughts race through my mind. _This could be the man that took Momma and Sissy away from me_.

"What the hell," he grumbles right before I bring the pan down and he goes silent once more.

"Heh, now I know why Momma loves these things," I grin, patting the pan affectionately. I sit on the floor, eyes still locked on the man in front of me and the pan resting in my lap. Aunt Emily has been gone a long time and Uncle Charles is out on the streets to see if he can find my Momma and Sissy, or if he can find someone who knows where they are. I hope he finds them today; I'm tired and ready to go back to my own house instead of this stuffy, old place.

Huffing, I lean my back against the desk, closing my eyes for a moment to rest. It was only supposed to be for a little bit, but when my eyes open again it is dark outside and the man is struggling to get free. Curse words escape his mouth at regular intervals and his wrists and ankles are bleeding and red from where the sheets are cutting into his skin. I get back up and raise the pan with both hands before I bring it down again, this time missing his head and accidentally getting his hand instead. "Goddammit, you worthless little—"He doesn't get the chance to finish the sentence because someone else hits him with a pot.

"And that's how it is done, Cousin," Edgar smirks, settling down on the floor next to me and tugging on the bottom of my coat until I join him. I cross my arms, looking away from Edgar with stubbornness that Daddy swears I got from the Uncle I never met. "What is it?"

"You'd be mad too if someone came and stole your mommy away." Edgar lowers his head, fingers absently running over the pot's smooth surface. "I'm sorry, Edgar," I whisper, fighting back tears. Big boys don't cry and I am a big boy; Daddy told me so. He _did _know how I felt, but without the hope he might see his daddy again.

"It is okay, Andy, you didn't mean it."

We sit for the rest of them time in silence, cookery in our laps and taking turns in keeping the stranger unconscious until Uncle Charles comes home and takes over; no luck in finding even a trace of my missing family.

**Emmett**

I climb into the coach, shivering from the cold winds that had been blowing fiercely all day. Judging by the heavy clouds in the sky, it would start snowing at any moment and it would snow a lot. _Elizabeth loves snow_, I muse with a smile, _I'll have to take her outside to play in it one I get her and Sarah back_. "Sir," Blunt asks," where exactly are we going?"

"Holy Cross church." He nods, telling the coachman and fidgeting nervously with the hem of his coat; Daniels rolls his eyes at the other officer's habit, his own hands steady and in his lap. I didn't see any problem with it as long as he wasn't too nervous to do his job properly. I lean my head against the wall of the coach, watching out the window as tiny flurries of snow begin to fall quickly—the ground changing from a dried-up brown to a pristine white.

When we finally arrive at the church, I jump out and run to the double doors, finding them locked just as they were when it was Emily I was searching for. Grunting, I punch and kick the door repeatedly in a rage. "Emmett, that is no way to behave," Daniels reprimands; a hand on my shoulder to pull me away from the doors. "Come on, we have other places to look than inside the church directly." With a nod, I follow him to one side of the church and nearly vomiting when I realize that this is the spot where John had bled to death, I was shot, and Sarah had passed out; all that had happened in a space of a couple of minutes and no one had been able to stop it. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," I answer in a voice weak to my own ears. "Do you see anything?" Daniels shakes his head, deciding to walk to the opposite side to look around while I took this side and Blunt took the back by the cemetery. Taking a few deep breaths to steady my nerves, I walk over to the spot where I found my wife the first time. The snow had covered any tracks that might have been there, but I wasn't looking for tracks exactly, I was looking for a message or a note. Squinting in the low light of the low afternoon sun, I can barely make out a piece of parchment sticking up from the side door of the church.

'_You know where to go, Detective_.' The Baltimore Patriot was the next place on my list—the place where Emily had been hidden, Edgar poisoned, and Sarah kidnapped by Ivan. Blunt comes around the corner then, empty-handed and displeased. "I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't find anything."

"I found the note; we need to get to the old Baltimore Patriot."

"But that place has been shut down for five years…." I shrug, glancing down at the note again and feeling helpless.

"Emmett," a woman shouts from the other side of the church. What in the name of God was Emily doing here?!

**Emily**

I hurry down the deserted back roads to my church, knowing that Emmett was working on a theory that would lead him here and hoping I wouldn't miss him. The temperatures were rapidly dropping as winter set in and I could see my breath as a white cloud in front of me. Snow was falling quickly from the heavy, gray clouds in the sky—much easier to handle than the torrents of rain we've been subjected to these last few weeks. Snow I can handle as long as it is not too deep to walk through in a dress. Head down, I continue to march forward through the howling wind and freezing snow, arms wrapped around myself to fight for more warmth.

I had an idea of my own that may just help Emmett find the girls; the man I captured the night before, Raphael, had told me little, but just enough to connect the puzzle. Somehow, all of this was connected to Ivan—a relative like a brother or cousin—had kidnapped Sarah and Elizabeth to draw Emmett in to the Baltimore Patriot and then possibly kill him. That's what I know for certain, the man wants Emmett dead, and he wants to be the cause of it. I quicken my pace when I see the church looming ahead of me and a coach parked out front, but no one was wondering around so they must be around back where the cemetery is. "Emmett," I call out, gasping slightly and shivering from the cold and excitement.

"Emily?!" Emmett's voice was coming from a few feet away as I turned the corner. "What are you doing out here; you must be freezing?"

"I'm fine, I just—" The sound of stone grinding against stone makes me look up in time to see an old gargoyle statue falling off its perch and plummeting down towards Emmett. With a shout, I dash forwards and tackle Emmett out of the way, landing on top of him while the gargoyle lands a few inches away. If it had hit its mark, Emmett would have been crushed. "Oh my God," I gasp, getting up and helping Emmett back to his feet. "That nearly killed you!"

"I know," he answers, looking more than a little dumbstruck and frightened. We both stare down at the crumbled statue in a state of shock—the feeling of being watched making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, but when I look around I can't see anyone. "Why is it you came out here in this storm, Emily?"

"Um, I captured the man that took Elizabeth last night and Father helped me tie him down." At this, Emmett raises a brow in clear amusement. "I was able to make him tell me where you needed to go next—"

"The Patriot where you were found."

"Yes, but expect some kind of trap; the man that's going after you is somehow related to Ivan and wants to hurt you." he nods, clutching a piece of parchment tightly in his fist and leads me to the coach. "Are we going there now?"

"No, you're going back to your Father's home and looking after the children while my men and I go to the Patriot."


End file.
